


Gold Member

by Dangersocks



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bad Puns, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Is a Good Boyfriend, Curses, Dirty Talk, Fondling, Human Furniture, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Puns & Word Play, Safewords, Sexual Fantasy, Sounding, Storytelling, Threesome - M/M/M, Verbal Humiliation, encasement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Princeling likes to play. The Alchemist likes to experiment. The Elf likes to take everything, loudly..."</p><p>"Playroom?" Earl warbles.</p><p>(Another Cecearlos fic that follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis">Jathis'</a> series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jathis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prince in Peril](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632463) by [Jathis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis). 



> I compiled a few stories saved from late-night phone texting. I tried to piece them together coherently. Some stories need to be shared and I'm fond of this one. 
> 
> Cecil is too.
> 
> Follows the events of [**Dirty Fun With Boyfriends** and **Master Kevin**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis/series) But for this, just know that the bad things are behind. Cecil writes. And slowly, the boys get their groove back. Or their backs into grooves. Or...
> 
> Well.
> 
> SEX! instead of STREX!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Chapter one has implied violence/gore/death.

_The ~~scummy~~ amb_ ass _ador had almost found a suitable citizen._

 _The country had many slaves and the amb_ ass _ador, within his circles, had given the description of who and what he was looking for. It was only a matter of time before an entrepreneurial Lord came calling with a relevant offer. The man wanted favor, which the amb_ ass _ador easily gifted. smiling god, the paltry things that people wanted._

 _Not the amb_ ass _ador. No, he had very specific designs. ~~Evil, evil designs. Really bad ones. Just awful~~._

 _The slave is quiet, when drugged. Surprised when he wakes, being stripped down and tied with leather into a pose. He frowns as he is adjusted. Not touched yet, but placed. His body is the right shape. His muscles are surprisingly the same. The amb_ ass _ador praises him like a piece of art. ~~Bastard.~~_

_Then the spells start._

_The slave cannot protest. He is gagged. He feels his toes seize and then his ankles. The bar holding them apart is now no longer essential. The slave is frozen in place, his skin changing with a worrysome tingle from flesh to gold._

_The amb_ ass _ador coos, stoking the slave's concerned face. "You shouldn't be upset. You'll be worth more than you ever imagined."_

_The slave tries to glance down, the leather bonds look black against his smooth, shining chest. The slave wants to know what his body is like beneath the shell encasing him. Will his insides solidify too? Would that hurt? These are important questions._

_Then the am_ bastard _or turns around from his table, the contents too high up for the slave to see. "It is just your face that isn't right. No freckles. No proud chin."_

 _The am_ bastard _or is holding a curved, smiling blade._

_"I can pretend without having to look at it. Thank you for your service."_

_The am_ bastard _or's teeth are the last thing the slave sees._

* * *

 

“You’re writing again." Carlos notes, leaning over the chair. "Are you going to edit those out?”

Cecil frowns, suddenly a serious and deliberate writer. “My first drafts are pretty honest. And yes. Earl, uh…”

Carlos drifts to the side, peering at the apparatus that sits empty under the desk. “Go on?”

“He did inspire it. Well, not _this_ directly.” Cecil prods the straps on the ground, never once used. Small steps. They make little gains and feats of bravery first. “He asked if it would be weird for us to continue exploring a few of his peril and humiliation kinks, and I got to thinking that I haven’t written any after the, well...stuff.”

“Writing could help us all deal with that,” Carlos offers, planting his chin on Cecil’s head. “I think you handle the subject with creativity as much as sensitivity.”

Cecil hums happily. “I try. Oh, here. Read the next part then.”

* * *

_It happens when the Elf touches gold._

_He scoops up a coin from a gambling soldier, pleased to show off his clever speed._

_The moment the warm metal settles in his palm, the Elf Prince gasps and shudders, taking a knee as his cock hardens and his mouth dries. He drops the coin, in the middle of the tent surrounded by men. The sensation ceases immediately._

_"Masters, did you trip?" blusters the man the Elf had playfully robbed._

_"Who struck him!" demands another._

_The Elf bites his lip, feeling bewildered and shamed. The arousal is lingering, but simple to repress. He has no interest in these men. The thought leaves him nauseous._

_"I am fine," he commands. Perhaps the order is also for himself. He brushes himself off, trying to recall what caused the experience. He is immune to most curses._

_When the Elf Prince scoops up the coin to return it to the soldier, he feels the longing return. He hisses and thrusts the currency back onto the table, fighting back a keen as his loins demand pressure and his thighs crave for bites. He is empty and sensitive. He ignores the concerned stares and stumbles out of the tent._

_Distance, he needs..._

_He retreats into the rain. Each step lightens the urges. What the blighted forest?! He finds a private corner by the stables and runs a hand through his hair. Was it the coin? Maybe something with the material?_

_He understands some of the beautiful and smart Alchemist's work. He glances about, finding a few of the bridles hanging up. The royal ones are plated in gold. The Elf slips into the tent, aware of how to test theories now._

_A single squire guards the precious metal._

_The Elf dismisses the girl. When he is certain he is alone, he tentatively reaches forward._

_He instantly_ needs _to be wearing the bridle. He should be gagged and restrained, showcased and fucked. Gods, the Elf warbles as his knees give. He remembers a bright toothed smile. He thinks of red. The pain of unseen wounds, flicking at his thighs and slapping at his cock._

 _The Elf shudders on the ground, aware briefly that there is a voice. It is the_ wrong _voice._

_The frightened squire rolls him over and asks again if she can help. She is not smiling. She is..._

_The Elf whimpers for the Alchemist. He hopes he does at least. His Prince or the half-elf._

_But he may have asked for someone else._

 

_(dramatic pause. End chapter)_

_\----TIME PASSES (or something.)_

_"It is related to the heads that are delivered to us," the Prince growls. "It_ has _to be."_

_Outside of the room they all share, the Prince as the Alchemist pace. Inside, the Elf sleeps with the help of a potion._

_"I need to study this," mutters the half-elf. "But I suspect you are right."_

_"Can you fix it?" the Princeling asks._

_"Not without finding the source. That is likely in enemy territory. But I can promote a tolerance. Dilute gold and let him wear it. Eventually, he will stop noticing, or bear the urges better. I warn you, it could take years unless we...well, take advantage of the affliction."_

_The Princeling swallows, nodding. He is ashamed that he had already considered the idea._

_A special cock ring, or gold dust for their lips..._

_He is sobered immediately when he recalls that the hated am_ bastard _or's soldiers use the metal in their weapons._

_An arrow meant for the Elf could mean a prolonged and confusing death._

_"He needs his rest," offers the Alchemist. "And we will need to be ready to watch him when he is up and about. You know how he likes to wander off to solve his own problems..."_

_\--ELSEWHERE--_

_The amb_ ass _ador touching his idol. The statue bleeding and adorned in jewellery that clamps into the soft metal…_

 

_(End chapter here for most drama)_

* * *

“It is the rough draft,” Cecil states.

“It’s...wow. You’re…”

“Going to fix all of the error,” the host quickly assures.

Carlos tuts, slapping the top of his companion’s head with the printed pages. “I meant to say it’s great -- the world building and your pacing. You put a lot of thought into this.”

“Do you think Earl will like it?”

Carlos raises his brows, finding the question ridiculous.

“I just…” Cecil squirms. “I think he wants to justify himself, which he really _doesn’t_ need to. There’s nothing wrong with how he gets off on the scarier scenarios, because we’re safe and it’s controlled and consensual.”

“And crazy turn-ons are normal,” Carlos agrees. “I can vouch for that, being a scientist. But that’s _not_ what’s bothering you.”

“What’s bothering me is the continuity. I have the Spoiled Princeling being a good boyfriend now. But the Elf is going to need something else. He may not want...vanilla sex?"

“Which the evil ambassador can counter, to tempt the Elf.”

“Yes!” exclaims Cecil, rummaging for a stick of charcoal to add notes. “Secretly seducing the Elf with mind magic, even though the Elf _knows_ better...”

“Maybe the Spoiled Princeling uses his talented mouth to taint those seductions. You can talk very dirty if you want to, Cecil. And if the Prince is trying to help the Elf by giving him a secure way to experience his secret urges...”

The wide, adoring eyes peering up at Carlos seem incapable of being wicked. “I love you.”

“And if Earl is still aroused by...elements of what happened to him, that’s not a sign that he plans to leave. Believe me, Cecil. I know what it’s like to answer that clarion call. Earl’s stronger than I am, and a lot more considerate of consequences.”

A hand slips into Carlos’. “Help me write the next part, then?”

Cecil is surprised when Carlos acquiesces, dropping to a knee to consider how he’ll fit under the desk. That had not been Cecil’s intentions, but he does not argue the gentle inspiration that follows.


	2. Chapter 2

Earl braces from his knees as Carlos tugs his head up by unruly strands of vibrant hair. "And just what are we to do with this filthy pet?"

"He thinks he's a prince," Cecil muses, rising as he casts his finished story aside. "But with such basic instincts..."

"Hmmm," considers the dark scientist, pretending to be an alchemist puffing into Earl's neck.

The Elf would whine in the story. Earl whines.

Cecil stops in front of them. "Face down, _pet_."

Earl glances up in time to see concern and he squeaks a brief, "olive!" before Carlos takes Earl’s head and shoves it forward.

The Scout catches himself with his hands, nose just in front of Cecil's fuzzy toe socks.

"Ass up," continues the commands. "The Alchemist will certainly want to see your...assets."

"I will break up with you if you are using that in the story," mumbles Carlos. He still dutifully shifts to pull Earl's pants the rest of the way free, loud with clattering the belt so all remember it is there and what it can be used for.

Cecil sighs dramatically at the loss of a good line, yet recovers quickly, warning Earl, "I plan to touch myself thinking of you and your wantonness, Slut. I'll spill myself onto your back as I imagine you in gold, unable to move. You could decorate my throne room, mouth forced open so I may fill it as I will. Special guests," he smirks at Carlos, "will be invited to use you. All you are is furniture, Elf. It is what you always _should_ have been."

Carlos grabs Earl's hips as they wiggle. "Were you granted permission to thrust?" he growls, slapping a thigh.

"Oh yes," Cecil agrees, drawing himself out. Gods, he is hard. He is surprised at how much he has missed this.

"When you fail to retain your dignity, Elf, which you fail so often to do...you can clean it up. You love cleaning up after yourself, don't you? We'll carry you down to the cages where the ambassador’s curse will make you needy again. Maybe you can fuck yourself into the bars of the cage as we watch. Maybe we -- Earl, your safewords? -- sound you, in case your cum turns to gold and we mine you for the only worth you _are_ to us..."

"Olive...I think. It's...confusing?" Earl stammers.

“It can change." Carlos strokes Earl's leg as he tentatively feels him. "Speak up if..."

"Those ghost touches..." strains Earl. "Carlos, _Gods_..."

Two calloused fingers brush Earl's testicles. The Scout backs against the hand but Carlos keeps it teasingly light.

"I think of you, ashamed of how everyone in my court can see you," Cecil huffs, tightening his strokes around his own cock. "They come to watch. To view you. They whisper and hope I like them enough to let them touch. But you are still so hard, Elf. You love their attentions as much as you hate it. You drool when your mouth is not being stuffed. Your nipples want for chains and I will dress you in gold. All audiences must bring me an offering and I hang the purest from you. I strike you with strings of it, and everyone can hear your desperate... _fuck!_ "

Carlos grins as Cecil shudders, cumming on them both. The Scientist wipes his cheek and then slides the stain onto the back of a shivering, mewling Earl.

"I find reasons to study the curse," he murmurs. "Though I don't get a lot of work done because you are _such_ a distraction, trussed up and begging all the time. I get frustrated, I'm sure. I find ways to show it. I'll measure you, Elf. Touch you in ways that make you think I’m here to help your plight, but I’m above kindness now. I sometimes get jealous and demand the Princeling's attentions on days when he promises _you_ relief. Alchemy is all about turning things to gold and maybe I'm fascinated by you. Now, you are at the mercy of my studies..."

Carlos seizes Earl's cock, fingers thoroughly prodding at the leaky slit as if evaluating it. "Oh, the things I'll attach..."

Earl barks, the sound drawing into a wail as he expels onto himself and the floor.

"Such a messy slut," Cecil tuts. "Civilized people don't ruin the floors."

“The King’s floors no less,” growls Carlos with sinister melodrama.

Lacking rope, Carlos takes the belt and binds Earl’s arm into a lock. Earl has shown him how to pin someone before, and the other is now too weak to fight back. Carlos presses Earl’s torso against the floor. "Clean it up."

"Olive..." gasps the redhead, blushing all the way to his ears as he submits.

"Olive it," puns Cecil. "And then we finally go to the playroom..."

* * *

 

“So the Elf and the Alchemist aren't on the best of terms after the Elf is caught trying to slip away into the enemy territory. But so far from home, an assassin attacks and while the pike is meant for the heart of the Elf, the Alchemist valiantly dives in front to take the hit. Gold is weak, and the weapon’s tip breaks off in the Alchemist’s pretty chest. The Elf is unable to touch the wound without going into a frenzy, but he needs to save the Alchemist.”

"How do they get out of this one?"

"A faerie saves the Alchemist."

"Seriously?"

"A racist, asshole faerie."

“Oh sweet Spire..."

"You know it's a real jerk because it cures the Alchemist, but then dies without fixing the gold curse."

"That _is_ rude, you know, giving its life like that..."

"The nerve. I would put that crime right up there with lazy storytelling."

"I'm telling the story and I write what I know. Do you want the two to have make-up border sex, or not?”

“Purple.”

“Olive.”

“Neat!”


End file.
